Chapter 13 - The Brother No One Knew Existed
The man in the photograph was not smiling.
Neither was Rafael.
They sat side by side in the back of a black sedan, close enough that the family resemblance was impossible to ignore once I knew what I was looking for. Same heavy brow as Adrian. Same sharply cut jaw. Same gray eyes that could turn from warm to winter in a second.
But there was something else.
He looked afraid.
Adrian came into recovery ten minutes later.
He had removed the surgical cap, but his hair still stood up strangely from it. There was dried blood on one cuff that did not belong to him. His face softened when he saw me awake.
“Lucia is stable.”
Those were the only words I needed first.
“Really?”
“She needed respiratory support, but the neonatologist says she’s responding.”
“Can I see her?”
“As soon as they clear you.”
I reached for his hand.
He took mine carefully.
Then I turned the phone toward him.
His face emptied.
“What is that?”
“Apparently your brother.”
He stared at the image.
“No.”
“Nora thinks the blood sample came from him.”
Adrian took the phone.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then he zoomed in on the man’s face.
“I know him.”
Nora, standing near the window, looked up sharply.
“From where?”
“Lucerne.”
I frowned. “Switzerland?”
“Three years ago. Banking conference.”
“You went to a banking conference?”
“I own banks.”
“Right. Sometimes I forget how annoyingly rich you are.”
He almost smiled.
Then his face hardened again.
“He introduced himself as Elias Voss. Private equity. German mother, American father. We spoke for maybe ten minutes.”
Nora typed the name into her phone.
“Elias Voss exists.”
“Real person?” I asked.
“Real enough to have a passport, companies, and tax records.”
“Which means nothing anymore,” I said.
“Correct.”
Adrian stared at the photograph.
“Why would Rafael hide a son?”
Nora answered. “Maybe he didn’t know.”
That possibility landed differently.
A nurse came in to check my incision and vital signs. While she worked, Adrian stood by the window, studying the image like it might confess.
Finally, my bed was rolled toward the NICU.
Nothing else mattered for the next twenty minutes.
Lucia lay inside an incubator beneath soft lights, impossibly small but unmistakably ours. A tiny breathing tube supported her nose. Monitoring leads covered her chest. One hand rested beside her face, fingers curled.
I cried before I reached the glass.
Adrian stood behind me, one palm on the back of my wheelchair.
“She has your mouth,” he whispered.
“She’s premature. She has no idea what her mouth looks like yet.”
“She has your mouth.”
I smiled through tears.
The neonatologist, Dr. Chen, met us there.
“She is doing better than she was in the OR.”
My entire body relaxed by one degree.
“Her hemoglobin improved after transfusion. We’re still monitoring for breakdown of red cells.”
“Can I touch her?”
“Yes. Through the porthole. Slow movements.”
I slid my hand inside.
Lucia’s fingers wrapped weakly around one of mine.
Adrian turned his face away.
I knew why.
I had seen him cry only once during our marriage, at his mother’s funeral.
He did not want the NICU to be the second.
“Come here,” I said.
He shook his head.
“Adrian.”
He moved closer.
“Touch your daughter.”
He placed one finger beside Lucia’s hand.
Her tiny fingers caught his too.
That was when he cried.
Silently.
No shaking shoulders. No dramatic collapse.
Just tears sliding down the face of a man who had spent his entire life making sure nobody saw weakness.
I watched him and remembered the day he served me divorce papers.
He had looked colder than this hospital room.
Now I understood that coldness had been fear dressed as certainty.
It did not erase what he had done.
But it made forgiveness possible someday.
Not today.
Maybe someday.
Marco entered the NICU waiting area fifteen minutes later.
“We found Elias Voss.”
Adrian straightened.
“Where?”
“Registered owner of a penthouse on East Walton. Building staff says he arrived yesterday.”
“Rafael?”
“No visual confirmation.”
“Bellini?”
“No.”
I looked at Adrian.
“You’re not going.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You just had major surgery.”
“I didn’t say I was going.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I’m always thinking several things.”
“Most of them dangerous.”
“That is unfairly accurate.”
Nora joined us.
“Federal team is already moving on the penthouse.”
Adrian’s expression darkened. “Without me?”
“You are not law enforcement.”
“I have questions.”
“So do they.”
Marco’s phone rang before Adrian could argue.
He answered.
Then his face changed.
“What?” Adrian asked.
Marco handed him the phone.
A live security feed filled the screen.
The penthouse door stood open.
Inside, furniture had been overturned. Blood streaked the marble floor.
At the center of the living room, Rafael sat tied to a chair.
Alive.
No Elias.
No Bellini.
An agent cut Rafael loose.
He immediately demanded a phone.
Seconds later, Adrian’s rang.
He answered.
“Where is he?”
Rafael’s voice came weakly through the speaker.
“You know?”
“I saw the photograph.”
A long pause.
“Elias is my son.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought he was dead.”
The same story again.
Adrian closed his eyes.
“How many dead sons do you have who keep turning up alive?”
Rafael sounded broken. “One too many.”
“What happened?”
“Bellini took him at birth.”
I felt cold.
Adrian’s grip tightened on the phone.
“You told us Matteo died after six days.”
“He did.”
“So Elias?”
“His twin.”
Silence.
Rafael continued.
“Bellini told me Elias died an hour after Matteo. I saw two covered bassinets. I believed her.”
“Why would she take him?”
“Because he did not carry the defect.”
I stared at Lucia through the glass.
Rafael’s voice cracked.
“She kept my healthy son as a control subject.”
Nora whispered, “Jesus.”
Adrian asked, “Where is Elias now?”
Rafael’s answer came quickly.
“With Bellini.”
“Willingly?”
“I don’t know.”
Then a text arrived on Adrian’s phone.
From Elias.
May you like
A single sentence.
IF YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER TO LIVE, STOP LOOKING FOR MARA AND START LOOKING AT YOUR OWN BLOOD.
